Inside Westminster: Tales of Hubris and Betrayal No 16
by mrsordinary54
Summary: 'Life in the Fast Lane' is inspired by the shenanigans of the British political 'elite'.


INSIDE WESTMINSTER: TALES OF HUBRIS AND BETRAYAL

16

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

When Potty drowsily came to that fateful morning, he found his 'pride and joy' firmly thrust in Mandy's mouth - reminding him of exactly why he was so 'loved up' by this woman.

'Mandy has that man drooling after her like one of Spangle's puppies desirous of more of mummy's milk,' Willoughby Knight-Johnston had said after watching the couple's barely controlled fondling at the Christmas Eve cocktail party held by his good chum and fellow 'dormie', now MP for Cheadlehume, Tobias Ivan Todhulme (Titty to his friends).

Mandy had wasted no time getting over her near-disastrous liaison with that lothario Juan. Never one to dwell on the past or to suffer from that pointless emotion 'guilt', she had not felt compelled to 'confess' anything to Potty. She'd learnt a very long time ago that telling the truth had often led to those nasty things called 'consequences' and she was above any of that nonsense. She was also comforted by the fact that her current 'partner' was of a similar mind-set, though she knew him to be less ruthless than her.

Mandy remembered that Potty had actually been hurt by the article written by the Very Reverend Sir Peter Humberg in which he called Potty an 'amoral liar'. Potty had wanted to take action against such profanities but Mandy had advised him to calm down and rise above such base comments. Fortunately, the said article had been buried in the deluge of bad press for the PM, so discretion was definitely the order of that day and not some vainglorious and pointless law-suit. Mandy knew that there would have been enough examples of Potty's behaviour in the very recent past to be described as both lying and totally devoid of morals - his treatment of his wife, Sophia Mowbray-Dick, and their four children for a start.

She got up to shower, golden-limbed from their recent quiet get-away though Mandy had found playing two men at the same time rather tiring. Good job she hadn't spent much time bothering with those filthy elephants. She'd got a few brilliant selfies for her Instagram account, so that had been enough of getting herself dirty.

In the end she'd not had to choose between Juan and Potty which was actually rather fortunate, so now she was going to put all the power of her feminine wiles into making Potty completely besotted with her. She'd left nagging him about his unkempt appearance till she was sure that he was 'the one' and then she set to.

Firstly, a phone-call to mumsey. Fortunately, Angelica had come round after what had been a dreadful few weeks of high emotion where certain things had been said that had really hurt everyone. Angie and Geoffrey had learnt to cut their losses with their youngest daughter and were just relieved that she might have found someone who would be prepared to take her off their hands. For quite a time they'd been really concerned that no decent chap would ever turn up for their most difficult daughter.

'Decent' wasn't a word that bothered Mandy and certainly couldn't be used to describe Potty. No, Mandy was hell-bent on marrying someone with serious money and preferably coming with an impressive pedigree. She knew she wasn't from the top echelon of society where 'Pandora' is destined from birth to marry 'Peregrine', 6th Earl of Barronswood. No, she'd have to sort this out herself.

Mandy was firmly middle-class, pretty, yes, but at a severe disadvantage to the titled and thus entitled few. With the help of daddy's contacts, Mandy had been put in the way of many eligible chaps and many of them had been smitten. But Mandy was holding out for more than they had to offer. Knocking on 30, she knew she had to get a move on.

And then, as if by magic, she fell - quite literally - into the arms of Ptolomy Trudge-Jones. She'd only just arrived in post and was carefully sussing out how to portray herself: prim and efficient to any powerful women and ditsy and charming to any vulnerable male. She'd developed a sixth sense for those types, but always concentrated on the richer pickings of those with obvious wealth and never mind if they were married.

She'd been bending over to pick up a pair of scissors that she'd purposefully dropped in front of the boss's desk - the boss being Potty. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of him bending slightly to see if he could see up her skirt. Job done! With that she started to weave her merry web, knowing that this one would soon be enmeshed without hope of escape.

And thus it happened that after several flirtatious 'accidental' brushings against - funny it never happened with the boring ones – Potty followed her into the stock cupboard on the excuse that he'd run out of sellotape and 'no' he'd get it himself.

That had been several years ago and though Potty had been a quivering wreck for her from the start, Mandy had taken longer to come round. After all, he had a powerfully influential wife who was still very much alive and kicking and four adult children.

'Was he worth the hassle?' Mandy kept asking herself. Clearly not to begin with as Juan hadn't been her only 'extra-mural' activity. They'd been Idris – she'd always wanted to be bedded by a black bodybuilder – and 'Little Freddie' from down the corridor in the 'I'm In' department. And he was exactly that, so no problem that their quick shag would get out! Names hadn't been exchanged with Idris and she only found out who he was by accident. He'd been out of his mind on something or other so Mandy was confident he wouldn't blab.

Yes, now that her path ahead had been clarified by circumstances, she decided that she'd better start behaving like the 'lady' she'd always aspired to become. Mandy was actually relieved that she could now focus on her future with a little more confidence: uncertainty and fear that someone from the past was going to blab about her rather feckless and indiscreet behaviour were gradually subsiding and she was beginning to enjoy the prospect of wearing the mantle of Mrs Trudge-Jones the Third.

Potty had also risen up the pollsters' rankings for his chance to be the next PM. The current one had become more than a 'lame duck'; she'd been callously gunned down in full public view and was now floating, or rather sinking, in the whole self-inflicted grotesque stinking stew of the last full parliamentary vote on her Brexit deal.

'Why doesn't she just roll over and…' Potty's thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his phone in his trouser pocket. Never mind that his leader was in full flow at the dispatch box, this was Mandy and so had to be answered with the utmost urgency.

'Text,' he whispered into his phone.

And with that, he found out the extent to which he was going to be shafted by his wife, the newly appointed QC, the 'Ice Maiden'.

On reading the short text, Potty was seen to mouth one word: 'shit'.

Like the Honourable Member, the Leader of the Opposition, he had to justify his use of this expletive as one of the many lip-reading experts wrote a lengthy article in the papers about Potty's disloyal reaction to the PM's valiant attempts to justify the chaos caused by the fiasco of the disunity and disloyalty of her own Party.

Working on the premise of keeping in the limelight, it seemed that life for Potty and Mandy was revving up nicely and they both shared a vision of being transported heavenwards on that career 'golden escalator'.


End file.
